The Impala
by Jadzia Saxon
Summary: UTTER CRACK-FIC! Dean/Impala. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.


The motor oil could only add to it, Dean thought, setting the newly bought bottle of it on the table next to the lift. After a while of fantasizing, he'd finally worked out the logistics of doing this properly. If you _could_ do this properly, he thought, smirking. Dean had decided that since the owner of a small-time car repair business was out of town, and no one else cared enough about it in this town to do anything if they saw a strange man enter the place, he'd make use of it. The car was raised using the lift in the garage of the place. Of course, Dean had checked and rechecked to make sure it as safe for his wonderful car.

Obviously, he didn't have to go through this much trouble. He could have just knelt and done it that way, but his thighs were longer than the height of the pipe, and that would have taken some creative contorting that he didn't think would be very pleasurable. Another good thing –besides that his car is beautiful- is that it didn't take nearly as much work as a woman would. The whole getting-them-home is bad enough, but the cuddling after and then the ones that shout or slap him for 'using them'. Of course, his baby would never –_could_ never – cause any of those problems.

Thanking whatever's out there that Sam didn't wake up when he left and ask where he's going, Dean steps onto the stool he put by the driver side door and reaches inside. He pushes his Metallica tape in and hops into the car. The engine of the car isn't on, of course, only the electrical part. Which means two birds with one stone, for Dean. Because he's already bare-chested (and bare-footed, he'd prepared), he feels the Impala's tan leather slide against his back and groans.

Dean rubs himself through his jeans, already half-hard, with one hand, while his other reaches to the seat controls near the bottom of the seat. He shifts the seat from its carefully appointed position and moves it forward and up. He switches hands, so that the one closer to the radio is free and the other is quickly getting him fully hard. Dean turns the base speakers to the max –the only things he's ever added/will ever add to his baby- and feels the thrum of the music start beating throughout the entire car. The feel of the seat vibrating in tune to the music against his ass wrenches another groan from him.

"Thank God," Dean groans as he unzips his jeans and pulls out his fully hard cock from its confines. He shoves his jeans all the way off and they pool around the pedals. Dean's head falls back against the seat and he rearranges his position, so that his cock is under the rim of the steering wheel, but through the opening of it. He moves one hand over the rim and strokes himself from both sides of the steering wheel, the wheel itself causing some friction. "Oh, Baby," Dean moans, and he probably would have been embarrassed if it didn't feel so _good_. He grips the wheel tightly and turns it slightly, bringing the cool metal into contact with his cock.

"Shit!" Dean shouts, coming way too close to the edge for his comfort. Deciding that that's enough foreplay, he carefully jumps out of the car, his hand not stilling on his cock. He reaches the table and expertly opens the bottle with one hand. Dean drizzles the motor oil over his cock and spreads it around easily. He swaggers around to the back of his car and glances at the exhaust pipe. Dean reaches out and runs a finger around the clean cut edges of the metal. A little pain's always good to go with the pleasure, Dean thinks as he grips the pipe with one hand and his now-dripping cock with the other.

Dean enters the pipe quickly and harshly, the bite of the metal pinching his ball sack causing him to suck in a sharp breath. The heat of the oil he's rubbed onto his cock and the coolness of the metal cancel each other out, and there's not a terrible temperature change like Dean expected. He gasps as he feels the steady beat of the music pulsing through the car, the pipe, and then through his body. It's more intense than it previously was, probably because he's now connected with the car instead of just sitting on it.

Dean starts moving slowly, bracing his hands on the trunk of the car. He quickly picks up his pace, moving a few times faster than the slow beat of the song currently vibrating the Impala. The smell of sex and oil are in the air, and Dean inhales deeply, reveling in it. A shudder runs through him and he locks his knees to keep them from buckling. Dean leans on the car, heated forehead against cool black paint. His thrusting speeds up again and he moans loudly into the empty garage.

"Oh, baby, baby, baby," Dean groans like a mantra, over and over, into the unrelenting metal. His thrusts grow erratic as his breathing has been the entire time. Dean slams into the pipe with a large force and stays completely still. Shudders rack his body and he groans loudly, gripping at the flatness of the Impala for something to ground him but finding nothing. After a moment, he sags against the car and gasps for air. When he's regained his breath and his momentarily lost balance, he slowly makes his way back to the driver's side of the car. Dean forces himself up onto the stool and grabs his jeans.

Dean punches the radio's off button and steps off the stool. He grabs a paper towel and haphazardly wipes himself off –he'll have a shower back at the hotel. As he slips his jeans on, he glances back at the exhaust pipe and hopes that nothing will leak out of there in the next few days and alert someone –most likely Sam- to what he's been doing.


End file.
